


The Sober Truth

by blueboxesandtrafficcones



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Alcohol, Developing Relationship, F/M, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Juno - Freeform, Love Confessions, Movie Reference, apparently Ellie's maiden name is 'Barrett', who knew? not me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 02:31:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18983389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueboxesandtrafficcones/pseuds/blueboxesandtrafficcones
Summary: Some surprising news puts Hardy in a tailspin, leading him to be drunk on Miller's couch in the middle of the afternoon, lamenting his apparent destiny to be alone and letting slip rather more than he intends - forcing them both to face what has been brewing beneath the surface.





	The Sober Truth

The moment Ellie Miller opened her front door, she knew someone was in her house.  Throwing out an arm to keep Fred from darting around her, she gave Tom the high sign to take his brother back to the car and lock themselves inside.  As they crept away from the house, she pulled out her mobile and started to dial.

“S’at you, Millah?”

Her partner’s unmistakable burr came from the direction of her sitting room, and she groaned quietly, tension mostly easing as she cancelled the call to him and pocketed the device.

“You alone?”

“Course I’m alone, if I’m not with you I’m _always_ bloody alone,” he grumbled, and she knew the coast was clear, relatively speaking.  His apparently sourer-than-usual mood promised to be a minefield though.

Leaning out the door she waved to the boys, gesturing for them to come in.

“What’s going on?” Tom asked as soon as he was in range, and she smiled apologetically for the worry still in his eye.  At sixteen he’d already been through more shit than was reasonable, yet he mostly soldiered on without complaining.  Michael Lucas’ arrest had apparently been the stark come-to-Jesus moment he’d needed to course-correct; he’d been on his best behavior ever since.

“It’s just DI Hardy, I didn’t know he was stopping by.  Everything’s all right.  Why don’t you go upstairs and start your homework, yeah?”

He nodded slowly.  “I’ll keep my door open.”

Still smiling, she waited by the foot of the stairs until both boys were out of sight before letting the grin fall.  Spinning on her heel she marched into her dark sitting room, throwing on the light.  “What the _fuck_ are you doing here?”

What greeted her was a sad sight.  Hardy, suit somehow more rumpled than usual, was splayed out on her couch, limbs akimbo.  His overcoat and suit jacket were dumped on the armchair, shoes abandoned in front of the coffee table, and he was drinking out of a glass bottle hidden in a brown paper bag.

“Had nowhere else to go,” he lamented, taking another swig.

“How’d you even get in?”  Clearing a pile of old newspaper from the end of the coffee table, she perched on it in front of his head as she took in his miserable appearance.

“Key.”

“You don’t have a spare key.”

“Made myself one ages ago.”  He paused for a mouthful, and from this close she could tell it was scotch.  Fitting.   _A scotch-soused Scot on my sofa.  Say_ that _five times fast._

“You made yourself a copy of my house key?”

Hardy turned his head to stare at her, hand holding the bottle dangling off the couch.  “I’m fairly certain I’m the one plastered, so are you going deaf or something, Miller?  I just said that.  Why’re you repeating me?”

“Well, that’s enough of that.”  It was easy enough to pluck the bottle from his limp fingers, and even his yelp of dismay was weak.  She took a large gulp of the liquid.

“No- Millah ‘m sorry, please.”  Big, sad brown eyes pleaded with her, but she was unmoved, locating the cap and screwing it back on before setting it on the floor behind her, far out of his reach.

“Absolutely not.  Hardy, what in the hell are you doing drunk in my sitting room at half three in the afternoon?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” he huffed, crossing his arms and staring up at the ceiling, and she rolled her eyes at his childishness.

“If you don’t want to talk, why are you _here_?  You could’ve just gone to yours to sulk in silence.”

Hardy stayed silent, and the realization of why made her lips twitch, not that he saw it.

“Aah, I see.”

“See what?”

“You _do_ want to talk about it!”

“No.”

She nodded vigorously, grinning at his sulk.  “Yes you do, that’s why you’re here!”

“I don’t,” he denied miserably, “I just… didn’t want to be alone.”

Well, that explained why he was on her couch.  Though he’d somewhat accepted Broadchurch as his home, he hadn’t exactly bonded with anyone else; now that Daisy was in London for uni, she was once again the extent of his social circle.

“Fair enough.  Want a cuppa?”

* * *

By the time she returned with a tray he was sitting up straight, tie fixed and shoes on again.  Settling on the sofa next to him, she handed him a pre-prepared cuppa with just a bit of milk.  “There you go, just the way you like it.”

He accepted the mug gratefully, before opening the bottle of scotch she’d forgotten to take with her and adding a healthy dollop.  “Want some?”

Ellie narrowed her eyes at him, glancing between his face, the bottle, and the closed sitting room door, before sighing.  “Why not?”

He poured some into hers before replacing the lid, and they took a few mouthfuls of their doctored tea before she turned to him.

“Right.  What’s going on?”

“Tess is getting married.”  Hardy stared into his mug as if it held the answers to the universe.  “To Dave, of _fucking_ course.  The DS she cheated on me with.”

Ellie blinked, surprised not to have to drag it out of him.   _He must really be devastated to actually tell me so easily._ She’d known him for an entire month before finding out he had a daughter and ex-wife.  “They deserve each other then.”

He snorted, lips twitching slightly before resuming their mournful droop.  “Aye, I suppose.  Still.”

“Are you still in love with her?” she asked quietly, hesitant of the answer.  Privately she hoped the answer was no after everything Tess had put him through, but braced herself for a ‘yes’ even as she ignored the way the idea created a vise around her heart.

“No,” he reassured her, briefly meeting her eye, “it’s been a long time since I missed _her_ , but… we were- _I_ was happy.  For a long time.  And sometimes I wonder… if she was ever as happy as I was.”

Ellie sighed, leaning against the sofa back and curling her legs under her, nodding in agreement.  “I know.  It’s like… was _any_ of it ever real?  How did I not see it?   _When_ did it go wrong?”

His head jerked up, several expressions flying across his face before reluctant acceptance settled there.  “Exactly.”

“You forgot,” she guessed, shaking her head fondly, “didn’t you?”

“I know yours was worse, but… betrayal is still betrayal.”  Gaze dropping, he poured more of the scotch into his cup.

The ghost of a grin flitted across her lips – some days, just for a little while, she forgot too.  She loved those days.  “Erm, are you allowed to be drinking like that?  With the pacemaker, I mean?”

“I’m fine.”  He pulled a few mouthfuls directly from the bottle, and she couldn’t help but be slightly transfixed by how his throat worked as he swallowed.  “Promise.”

“Good.  You’ve already died on me enough times.”

They drank in silence, Hardy staring at the ground as she watched him brood.  Once the tea was gone they kept passing the scotch back and forth, getting comfortably drunk together, though she was careful to moderate her own consumption, mindful of her children in the house.

Eventually he began to laugh, a strange, sad sound, as he settled his mug on the coffee table and put his head in his hands, hunching over.

“Hardy?”  Ellie set hers down as well in favor of putting her hand on his back, rubbing softly in the hope of offering comfort.  “What is it?”

“I don’t want to die alone.”  His voice was muffled but she heard him well enough, eyebrows jumping up in surprise.

“What?”

“I don’t want to die alone,” he repeated, raising his head to stare at the bookshelf opposite him.  “At least, I wish I had someone other than Daisy who would _care_.”

“I’m here,” Ellie reminded him sternly.  “I would care.   _Do_ care.”

“Oh, come on,” he scoffed, waving his hand dismissively, “we both know you don’t love me the way I love you, and that you only care mostly because I’m here, in your life.  If I hadn’t come back you’d have never thought of me again, and quite happily I imagine.  Don’t patronize me.”

All Ellie could hear was a dull roaring in her ears, as she wondered wildly if she was hallucinating.  “What?”  Surely he didn’t say he _loved_ her…  Not like _love_ -love.  Romance and relationships and… _stuff_.  Right?

“I don’t blame you,” Hardy said seriously, fighting valiantly to meet her eye, “I wouldn’t love me either under normal circumstances, let alone what I did to your family.  This isn’t about that.  Not really.  No woman I’ve ever loved has loved me the way I did them, and I’ve accepted that.  It just- in a moment like this, with Tess getting a new happy ever after with _him_ , just pisses me right the fuck off.”

“Hardy- _Alec-_ ”

Before she could splutter anything else out, not that she had a clue as to what it might be, he slumped against the back of the couch and began to snore.

“Shit.”  Moving him around to make sure he didn't suffocate before throwing a blanket over him, she watched him sleep for a minute trying to process what he'd just admitted.

“Now what?”

* * *

They were halfway through dinner when a loud groan emanated from the sitting room, and wiping her mouth with her napkin, Ellie rose from the table.  “I’ll be right back,” she told her father and sons, detouring to the kitchen for a glass of water.

When she walked in Hardy was sitting up with his back to the sofa arm, legs splayed along the length of the couch, his head resting in his hands.

“All right?” she asked brusquely, holding out the glass as she sat on the table.

He groaned again, quieter this time, accepting the water with a muttered, “Thanks.”

She waited for him to finish before taking the glass back, setting it on the table next to her and folding her hands in her lap.

“What happened?” Hardy asked, glancing over at her.

Ellie tilted her head in consideration, adopting a bright and louder-than-necessary tone as she said, “Well, I came home to find you drinking on my sofa, we talked a bit, you admitted you love me, and _immediately_ passed out.  That last bit was ninety minutes ago.”

“I’m sorry.”  He sighed, rubbing at his temples, before his head jerked upright.  “Wait, _what_?”

“Which part, the drinking part or the you saying you love me part?”

“The- the- the second one!”  Spluttering, he looked as though he didn’t quite believe her, blinking quickly with unfocused eyes.

Keeping her expression bland, still uncertain of where her feelings lay, she merely shrugged.  “Your exact words were to the effect of ‘I’- meaning me- ‘don’t love you the way you do me’.  Or something.”

“Those were my exact words?  As a detective shouldn’t you be better at taking statements?” he snarked, turning around to sit properly on the couch before briefly closing his eyes, holding up his hand to stop her retort.  “Don’t- don’t answer that.  Actually, don’t say anything.  I’m going home, and we’ll never talk about this again.”

“Hardy-”

He stood, swaying briefly before getting his feet under him.  “Good night.”

Ellie rose quickly, hurrying after him though she had no idea what to say to make him stay – didn’t even know if she _wanted_ him to stay.  Or to continue this conversation.  “Hang on-”

“DI Hardy.”  Tom appeared in the hallway then, just as Hardy fumbled open the front door.

“Hi, Tom.”

Her partner paused, watching her son carefully, and she suddenly remembered their few encounters over the years had all been some variation of painful, and she held her breath.

“We’re just having supper, there’s still plenty warm.  D’you want to join us?”  The teenager gestured over his shoulder with his thumb.

Ellie and Hardy shared a brief _what the fuck?_ expression before he very slowly nodded.

“I’d hate to impose.”

“Not at all.”  The two men faced off for a moment before her partner slowly shut the front door.

“Thank you.”

Tom led the way back to the dining room, continuing on to the kitchen to fix Hardy a plate while Ellie set a place for him between Fred and her father, who was at the other head of the table.

“Hi Alec,” Freddie chirped, ever the sociable one, and Hardy grinned even as he winced, likely feeling the effects of a wicked hangover.

“Hiya, Fred.  What’s new?”

* * *

Ellie finished drying the last of the dishes and put the plate away, turning to the door only to be scared half to death by her father’s presence.  “Dad!  What are you doing there?”  As always, he had a knack for disappearing until the chores were done, and she once again wished for the day when she didn’t need his free-but-expensive childminding, and could ship him off to Lucy.

“Why was he here?”

“Hardy?  He got some difficult news, needed a friend.”  She busied herself with cleaning the already spotless countertops, hoping he would think work remained and vanish again to avoid it.

“I don’t like him here in the house,” David said sternly.

Biting back a sigh, Ellie glanced back at him.  “It’s my house, Dad, and he’s my partner – at work, I mean.  He’s welcome.”

“He accused Tom of murder!”

“That was a long time ago, and that was mostly to- I don’t need to defend him to you!”  What she would never, _could_ never say, was that she had wondered too, had had the same questions as Hardy.  Had thought, just for a moment, that her eleven-year-old was capable of such a thing.

Little did she know how much worse the truth was.

David huffed, giving her a glare that hadn’t worked at fifteen and certainly didn’t now at forty-two.  “He’s a poor influence, on you _and_ the boys.”

Ellie bit her tongue until she tasted blood, taking deep breaths to keep herself calm.  “I absolutely disagree, and as their mother, it’s my call.  I have to go make sure Tom’s homework is finished, and put Fred to bed.  Good night.”

Holding her head high she swept past him, walking deliberately up the stairs to try to reign in her impulse to scream.  If anyone was a bad influence on her children it was him, but trying to run the household on her single salary was draining her financially and energy-wise.

Tucking her anger away, she rapped on Tom’s door and waited for the ‘come in’.  Once granted she stepped inside, watching him for a moment as he lay on his bed reading, holding up a finger in the universal _one minute_ gesture.

“Hi,” he finally looked up, using a scrap of paper as a bookmark and sitting up.  “What’s up?”

“Homework done?”

Tom nodded, eyes narrowing.  “Everything okay?”

“Yes.  It’s just- yes.”  She nearly said _I could kill Grandad_ , but had made it a conscious decision not to condone that sort of talk even in jest.  Especially in moments where it wasn’t so ‘in jest’.  “I thought it was nice of you, by the way, to invite Detective Hardy to stay for dinner.”

“I just figured he was already here,” he shrugged nonchalantly, “and you shouldn’t have to be stuck at work late to have dinner with your boyfriend.”

“Still, I thought it was- _boyfriend_?!”

Her son scoffed, giving her a look that clearly said _I’m not stupid_.  “It’s been five years.  You’re allowed to be happy.  Though all your lectures on the importance of honesty seem a bit hypocritical, considering you’ve never said anything.”

“I- that’s not- _we’re_ not-”

“It’s really okay,” Tom interrupted, laying down again and picking up his book, “and I don’t want to talk about it anymore.  Just no sleepovers, yeah?”

And he returned to his book, ignoring her gaping mouth and feeble spluttering.

“Mummy!  Storytime,” Fred called from his room.  In a daze Ellie headed for him, trying to wrap her head around the idea that Tom was not bothered by the idea of her dating Hardy – not that she was or had any intention of ever doing that.

Really.

* * *

_“Here.”_

_Ellie opened her eyes to see her husband standing above her, holding out one of the two fruity frozen drinks he held.  “Thanks.”  She took it as he settled on the lounge chair next to her, and they slurped in silence for a minute._

_“I still don’t understand why we’re here,” he said once the drinks were half gone.  “We live half a mile from the water, but traveled three thousand miles to sit on a beach looking at the same ocean we can see from the office.”_

_“Because here I don’t have to cook, clean, or work,” Ellie said patiently, “there’s no children, no crime, no worries.  And sexy men in swim trunks deliver alcohol to me.”_

_He lowered his sunglasses to give her an even stare.  “You really telling me you’re not as bored as I am?”_

_“Not in the slightest.  This is paradise.”_

_Her husband sighed heavily, setting his empty drink on the cocktail table between them and lowered the top of his lounger to stretch out, folding his hands across his stomach as he settled down for a nap.  “We’re at least going to do the murder mystery dinner tonight, right?”_

_“Of course, dear.”_

Ellie’s eyes snapped open, darting around wildly as she tried to reconcile her surroundings with the still-vivid image of her dream.

_It felt so real._

Filled with restless energy she climbed out of bed, detouring to the bathroom before making a circuit of her house, checking on her sleeping sons and all the doors and windows to ensure they were locked before returning to bed, climbing in and sitting up against the headboard, adjusting the sheet over her just so.

Only once she was settled did she close her eyes to try to recall her dream.  The details were fading fast, but she rather thought she’d been beachside at a luxury resort, soaking up the sun and letting it melt her troubles away, alone with her husband.

Her husband.

Ellie’s eyes snapped open, heart stopping for a moment before galloping off.  Over the past five years she’d had dozens, hundreds of dreams of being married again, most at the beginning when her mind was still trying to reconcile her new reality with the peaceful happiness of the Disney trip just before- well, _before_.  Because that was the defining moment in her life, wasn’t it?

There had been other such moments, of course.  Before and after kids.  Before and after becoming detective.   _Before and after my husband turned out to be a pedophilic childkiller._

But in those dreams, always, the man beside her was Joe – the man she’d married, the _version_ of him she’d married.  Kind, sweet, thoughtful Joe, who laughed at her jokes and treated her like a queen.

Tonight though… tonight was different.

Tonight, her leading man was none other than Alec Hardy.

_I’m not in_ love _with him though.  Am I?_

She thought about how much he’d annoyed her in the beginning, how thoroughly his presence had disrupted her life even before she knew the truth about Joe.  She’d thought him a bully, a sullen job-stealing grump determined to humiliate her with his experience.

Now, of course, she knew that wasn’t the case, that his poorly-executed plan had been to make her a better detective, to prepare her for the next time such a terrible case arose.  Now she knew how that gruff, cold, distant presentation was merely a front, battle armor to protect a soul that had been trampled on, bruised almost beyond repair.  That inside of it beat a warm, caring heart that recognized it couldn’t change what had happened, but could instead devote itself to stopping it from happening again.

How funny, that in the end Joe turned out to be the heartless monster she thought Hardy was, while Hardy in truth was a decent, hardworking man who fought in the name of fairness, who cared so deeply he risked his health, his life, his family to bring killers to justice.

But did she love him?

It wasn’t like when she met Joe – no butterflies in her stomach, no gooey feeling if they happened to touch.  He didn’t occupy every thought, she didn’t dream of the next time she’d see him.

And yet… he was a steady constant in her life.  When she needed advice or just someone to _listen_ , he was her first call.  That had been Beth, once, but after Danny…  They had repaired the break, but the scars remained – that bridge would never be the same.  With Hardy though…

She _knew_ him.  Knew what made him tick – usually.  Knew the simple things, like how he took his tea and that he despised pears for no good reason.  And they were a _team_ , a well oiled machine by now, able to communicate in fleeting glances, could practically read each other’s mind sometimes, especially but not exclusively while working.

_But is it love?_

Ellie huffed, determined to put it out of her mind and picking up the remote, flipping through the channels, never settling on anything for more than a minute.  On her third pass through she stopped on a movie.  Vaguely recognizing the older man in the shot, J something… _R Ewing?  No.  JK Rowling?  No, that’s the Harry Potter woman._ was seated at a kitchen table working on some sort of mechanical repair.  Leaving the channel on but reaching for her phone, Ellie was reading an email about a budget meeting when the girl on screen spoke somewhat forlornly.

_“I just- I_ need _to know that it’s possible that two people can stay happy together forever.”_

Ellie’s head jerked up, blinking at the screen.

JK Simmons _that’s it!_ sighed, and based on the nature of movies, she knew some sort of slightly-patronizing, revelation-inducing soppy quote was about to spring forth from his lips, and rolling her eyes, she fumbled for the remote.

_“In my opinion, the best thing you can do is find a person who loves you for exactly what you are. Good mood, bad mood, ugly, pretty, handsome, what have you, the right person is still going to think the sun shines out of your ass. That’s the kind of person that’s worth sticking with.”_

Ellie’s heart stopped before taking off double-time, beating wildly.  She must have moved on autopilot, because one moment she was staring at the screen and the next she was standing in front of the sliding glass door at Hardy’s, hand poised to knock.

_Eleanor, what are you_ doing _here?_ she asked herself, even as she watched her knuckles rap on the door without her permission.   _Go home._

Hardy appeared from the hallway then, yawning as he shuffled over and slid open the door.  “Something wrong?  Come to yell at me about something?”

She stared at him, taking in his sleep-rumpled hair and clothing.  He wore a tight tee and track pants, eyes warm and soft and sleepy, a hint of a smile at his lips despite his greeting.  For the first time, she looked at him and her belly swooped.

 Reaching up she fisted his tee, pulling him down to her and pressing their lips together firmly.  She only lingered long enough to taste mint and a hint of spice before pulling back, instinctively licking her lips to savor the taste.  Pulling back just enough to speak, lips still close enough to brush with the slightest forward sway from either of them, she whispered as though the universe would doom them if she spoke any louder.

“I don’t know if I’m in love with you, but I sure as hell want to find out.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Drunken Lie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19157794) by [blueboxesandtrafficcones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueboxesandtrafficcones/pseuds/blueboxesandtrafficcones)




End file.
